His mother was pale as death now, and very thin. She would sit and
look at him, then away into space. There was something between them that
neither dared mention. Clara came to see him. Afterwards he said to his
mother:
"She makes me tired, mother."
"Yes; I wish she wouldn't come," Mrs. Morel replied.
Another day Miriam came, but she seemed almost like a stranger to him.
"You know, I don't care about them, mother," he said.
"I'm afraid you don't, my son," she replied sadly.
It was given out everywhere that it was a bicycle accident. Soon he
was able to go to work again, but now there was a constant sickness and
gnawing at his heart. He went to Clara, but there seemed, as it were,
nobody there. He could not work. He and his mother seemed almost to
avoid each other. There was some secret between them which they could
not bear. He was not aware of it. He only knew that his life seemed
unbalanced, as if it were going to smash into pieces.
Clara did not know what was the matter with him.
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